


you're still the love of my life (despite the fear in your eyes)

by orphan_account



Series: the 100 au [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:25:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3718465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>seven ways bellamy blake says i love you</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're still the love of my life (despite the fear in your eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> there's probably gonna be spelling mistakes so sorry in advance. enjoy!

You stumble into your apartment. Your world is spinning and you can feel the bile come up your throat. And yet, all your mind seems to think is: Clarke, Clarke, Clarke. Her bright hair, resembling sunshine. Bright eyes, full of wonder. God, she is turning you into a fucking sap.

You hate her for making you feel this way. For making you feel like you are going to explode every time she smiles at you. You hate the way your heart beats a little bit faster as she touches you. You hate how often she invades your dreams. You hate it. You hate it.

You hate the way she's so passionate about helping people, saving them. That's why she's a doctor. You hate that you know that.

But, that's the thing isn't it? You don't hate her. Not even in the slightest.

You've seen her; You know her; You love her.

And you hate it.

You love her. You love her. You love her. You love her. You love her. The phrase echoes itself in your brain. Over and over again.

Bravery, or stupidity, gets the best of you, and you whip out your phone. You dial her number. Of course, you know her fucking phone number by heart.

Voicemail. You hear her voice and you hate it. You hate all of this.

“I love you,” you spit out. Your voice is fierce and emotional. You feel like your going to break any second. All of the anger that has been building up releases itself, like a dam overflowing.

“I love you,” you repeat.

“I love your fucking smile. I love how you try and take care of every fucking person.”

You want to scream.

You love her with everything. With everything in your fucking body.

No one besides Octavia gets that kind of love.

And you hate it.

But, you love her.

“I fucking love you Clarke,” you slur out.

You press 'End Call'.

The next day, you reek of alcohol. Your movements are sluggish, mimicking your brain. Your clothes are rumpled and you feel like shit. You wait for the freak out. The confusion. You wait for her to mention it. 

She doesn't.

-

You kiss her. It's amazing,

Both of you were beginning to get frustrated. So was Octavia. She had insisted that both of get “your shit together because the sexual tension was seriously getting to us.”

You had thought “fuck it.” So, you kiss her.

She kisses you back, grasping the collar of your jacket. You don't know how you resisted kissing her for so long.

Her lips are soft, as they shape yours. It's as if you are aware of everything around. Her smell, your bedroom, how the air around you is chilly; everything. You feel as though your entire life has been leading up until this moment.

It's all tongue and teeth. You can feel your heart thumping in your chest. As if, it's going to burst out. You swear you can hear hers.

She moans, chanting your name in your mouth. You decide this is what heaven feels like. You and Clarke kissing; existing; just together.

She twines her arms around your neck, trying to pull you closer. Your tongue swipes over her bottom lip and she moans loudly, deciding to pull off your jacket. 

Your brain screams on repeat: I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. Clarke is affecting the way your brain operates. Without thinking, you sigh “I love you.” into her mouth. She doesn't pull away. 

Neither do you.

 

-

You follow Octavia's advice. Or, at least you try.

“Be romantic, Bell.”

Being romantic is a lot harder than it looks. You contemplate being her flowers and chocolate. Maybe taking her to a nice restaurant. You both count dates as pizza, movies, and making out. Not that you mind.

You decide to settle for the flowers and restaurant. 

You show up to her door in a suit and tie. The tie is almost wringing your neck out. You hate it

But you love her.  
You knock on her door, and she appears in sweats and her bright hair in a bun. She grins at your appearance asking, “What, are you going on a hot date?”

You grin back exclaiming, “Yes, with you.” Clarke's grin falls and you wonder if this was a good idea.

“What? Seriously? What's got you in a romantic mood?”

“Octavia.”

She laughs, motioning you to come in. “Okay, okay. I'll get dressed. Hold on.” She leaves the room, and you smile to yourself. Being romantic isn't that bad, you think.

Clarke returns, sporting a blue dress, with her hair down, in curls. You gape at her. Being romantic definitely has its perks.

You offer her your arm, as if escorting her to a ball. “Shall we, Princess?”

She snorts, wrapping her hand around your biceps. “Yes, we shall. Y'know, Octavia's ideas aren't half bad.”

You love her. You love her, your brain screams.

You drive to the restaurant thinking that this is more of a proposal than a simple confession that you've always known.

-

It's late and the two of you are cuddled in your bed. You run your hand through her soft blonde tresses, it felt like silk running through your fingers. You tighten your arms around her waist, sighing into her hair. 

You love her. This is something you have known your whole life.

You love her.

Clarke hums in appreciation as she buries her head in your shirt, breathing you in. She smells of the ocean. You are reminded of the soft sand and blue waves. 

You love nights like these. Nights were there are no crazy hospital hours or nights were you don't spend hours at the precinct. Where you are not interrupted by your friends chaos. It's just you and her. Together. You love nights like these

You love her, your brain screams. 

“I love you,” you whisper. You feel her shift in your arms, turning to you. You quickly shut your eyes. Why, you don't know. You don't know why you hide from the words you already know.

-

You blame Raven for this one. And Octavia. Inviting to this party, with music blaring out of the speakers, You feel a though your ears will explode. The room is filled with bursts of the colors blue and purple. Everybody is dressed in various costumes. You had come as a police officer. “So original,” Octavia had remarked.

When you had first arrived, you had risen your eyebrows at Clarke's costume. A nurse outfit. No doubt that would cause some trouble. Clarke had simply smirked at you, grabbing your hand and leading you in.

You love her, your brain screams. 

You let her lead you on the dance floor, slowing dancing with her for a while. She wraps her arms around you, as you sway to the soft music. 

Her hair comes down from it's bun as you dance. You carefully tuck it behind her ear, reveling in the way she smiles at you. 

You can practically see Raven's and Octavia's grins at the sight of you.

As the dance ends, loud music blares from the speakers. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Lincoln jump at the song change.

Clarke begins dancing, grabbing her hands and using it to spin herself around. You grin at her and begin dancing with her. Which is a miracle in itself

You can hear Octavia and the others coo at the both of you dancing.

You love her. You love her, you think.

Doing the unthinkable, you yell over the speakers, “I love you.”

Clarke continues dancing, and laughs. She hadn't heard you.

You don't know why you're so disappointment.

-

Finn is yelling at Murphy but you can't hear them

Clarke is hurt.

Clarke is hurt.

You don't feel anything but terrified.

You cannot lose her.

“Shut up! Clarke is fucking hurt and two are yelling about who goes with who! Clarke is fucking hurt.” Octavia screams, breathing heavily.  
Clarke is hurt, you think. It's the only thing you can hear, repeating over and over. And you're fucking terrified. In record time – thank fuck for Murphy-- you arrive at the hospital and rush over to the receptionists desk. You know there's gonna be shit about family but you don't fucking care. Clarke is hurt and you need to know if she's okay.

“Clarke Griffin,” You say.

“Family only.” The receptionist says.

“No.”

The girl raises her eyebrows at Raven, who had a defiant look on her face. “No?”

“We're her fuking family. And we need to know if she's going to be okay.” Raven's voice is tight, as she yells at the receptionist.

“But-” She's interrupted by a man coming out and he's holding a clipboard, her doctor probably, saying “She going to be fine. She has to have a surgery performed on her left leg but she'll be fine.”

You feel as though a weight had lifted off your chest.

You love her. You love her.

All of you rush in the room before anyone can stop you.

“Thank God, Clarke,” Monty breathes. You go over to the side of the bed and grab her hand, intertwining your fingers.

“I love you,” you say, your voice breaking.

You do not want to lose her.

You can't lose her.

-

Clarke had made a amazing recovery, according to her doctor. She had finally had her cast removed from her leg, and she couldn't be happier. Neither can you.

It's a Sunday when you tell her.

Both of you are laying on the couch, watching Jurassic Park. The smell of popcorn had filled the air. You pull her closer to you, nuzzling your head in her hair.

You love her, your brain screams.

You love her, you think.

 

“I love you ,” you say, staring into her eyes with your heart thumping wildly.

Clarke turns to you, and you don't shy away. You don't end it with “I think” or “in that shirt.” You state what you've always known. You love her.

She grins at you, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“I love you too.”


End file.
